air ye?
an' what air ye arter?"

"I wish to see Mr Holt," I replied, struggling hard to keep my temper.

"Ye wish to see Mister Holt? Thur's no _Mister_ Holt 'bout hyur."

"No?"

"No! damnation, no! Didn't ye hear me!"

"Do I understand you to say, that Hickman Holt does not live here?"

"You understan' me to say no sich thing. Eft's Hick Holt ye mean, he
diz live hyur."

"Hick Holt--yes that is the name."

"Wall what o't, ef't is?"

"I wish to see him."

"Lookee hyur, stranger!" and the words were accompanied by a significant
look; "ef yur the shariff, Hick Holt ain't at home--ye understand me?
_he ain't at home_."

The last phrase was rendered more emphatic, by the speaker, as he
uttered it, raising the flap of his blanket-coat, and exhibiting a huge
bowie-knife stuck through the waistband of his trousers. I understood
the hint perfectly.

"I am not the sheriff," I answered in an assuring tone. I was in hopes
of gaining favour by the declaration: for I had already fancied that my
bizarre reception might be owing to some error of this kind.

"I am _not_ the sheriff," I repeated, impressively.

"Yur not the shariff? One o' his constables, then, I s'pose?"

"Neither one nor other," I replied, pocketing the affront.

"An' who air ye, anyhow--wi' yur dam glitterin' buttons, an' yur waist
drawd in, like a skewered skunk?"

This was intolerable; but remembering the advice of my Nashville
friend--with some additional counsel I had received over-night--I strove
hard to keep down my rising choler.

"My name," said I--

"Durn yur name!" exclaimed the giant, interrupting me; "I don't care a
dog-gone for yur name: tell me yur bizness--that's what I wanter know."

"I have already told you my business: I wish to see Mr Holt--Hick Holt,
if you like."

"To _see_ Hick Holt? Wal, ef that's all yur bizness, you've _seed_ him;
an' now ye kin go."

This was rather a literal interpretation of my demand; but, without
permitting myself to be _nonplussed_ by it, or paying any heed to the
abrupt words of dismissal, I replied, half interrogatively: "You, then,
are he? You are Hick Holt, I suppose?"

"Who said I ain't--durn your imperence? Now, then, what d'ye want wi'
me?"

The filthy language, the insulting tone in which it was uttered, the
bullying manner of the man--evidently relying upon his giant strength,
and formidable aspect--were rapidly producing their effect upon me; but
in a manner quite con